Back in the bedroom, she stares down with regret that she has to do this. But, honestly, she has no choice. Not if her plan is to have any hope of succeeding. Catriona sits on the side of the bed once again and inches the covers down from around the child’s neck. Her hair is messy now, matted together in damp, sweaty clumps. Catriona gently lifts a hank of hair off her face, takes the scissors and cuts through the dark mane just below the chin. She’s good at cutting hair, but it’s quite tricky doing it like this. She’ll have to roll her over in a minute to trim the other side. It will probably need evening out after she wakes. But it will do for now.

As the hair is snipped away, Catriona feels marginally better. Like this child is truly becoming her own. Next, she’ll have to get rid of the clothes and wash away the stink of that berry shampoo. She wishes she could do it all now but decides that it would be worse to wake her up. She doesn’t feel strong enough for the inevitable tears and questions. No, she’ll let her sleep as long as she likes. Catriona can put up with the wrong clothes and smell for a few more hours.

After the last of the girl’s long locks are cut away, Catriona stands and surveys her handiwork with a critical eye. Good. In the gloom, with the curtains drawn, while the child is curled up in bed with her face smooshed against the pillow, you would never know the difference. She won’t think too hard about what will happen when she wakes up.

Catriona realises she still has mud caked in her fingernails. Her clothes are still a bit muddy too. She should go and have a shower before Darren gets home. But then she remembers… and with that vivid flash of memory, her body begins to tremble once more – a strange, unsettling shaking that she has no control over. And she realises there’s no way she’s going to be able to go back into that bathroom.

10

Now

I lay the silverware on the dining-room table, giving each piece an extra polish as I set it down. The house is immaculate. All four of us have spent the day cleaning, tidying and making the place festive. Normally, I mention the word ‘cleaning’ and the kids disappear off to their rooms to tend to something that urgently needs their attention. But throw in a box of Christmas decorations and the promise of a sleepover with friends and they’re suddenly clamouring to help.